


Two Drifters, Off to See the World

by izloveshorses



Category: Anastasia (1997), Anastasia - Flaherty/Ahrens/McNally
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1990s, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Paris, Alternate Universe - Restaurant, F/M, Fluff, Slow Burn, at least that's how I'm feeling vibe-wise, picture 90s clothes lol
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-28
Updated: 2021-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-19 09:48:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29748687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izloveshorses/pseuds/izloveshorses
Summary: There's such a lot of world to seeWe're after the same rainbow's end,Waiting around the bendMy huckleberry friendOn impulse, Anya buys a one-way ticket to Paris, starting a refreshing and peaceful life in the hopes of finding herself. What she doesn't expect to find instead is a handsome waiter at her favorite bistro, who may be more of a kindred spirit than she bargained for.
Relationships: Dimitri | Dmitry/Anya | Anastasia Romanov (Anastasia 1997 & Broadway)
Comments: 45
Kudos: 29





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Brought to you by many many hours of ambient Parisian cafe sounds on youtube, me making a  playlist  instead of impulsively buying a ticket to Paris myself, and daydreaming about my emotional support couple living the life I deserve to live :)) In other words this fic is kinda personal for me. I won't get into it here lol but I'm basically living vicariously through Anya for a little bit. Is that weird?
> 
> So far from what I've written, it's gonna be pretty much all Anya's pov, but who knows! That could change :) 
> 
> Enjoy, and please leave a comment if you feel compelled!!

Anya’s life was perfect. 

She had a wonderful family and a happy childhood, she graduated with high marks from an expensive business school, her job didn’t require much energy from her as others probably would. Nothing was missing, she had nothing to complain about. 

Which was precisely why she left. 

It wasn’t that she was ungrateful or cutting ties off forever. She even promised to visit. However, her sisters didn’t seem to grasp this concept. 

“I just don’t get it,” Maria started again over the phone, “why won't you come back? Did we do anything wrong?”

Anya sighed. “No, this has nothing to do with you guys, I love you. But… I think I need to find myself for a bit.”

“You can do that here, at home! Why does it have to be all the way in Paris?”

“Why not?” Despite having the same exact conversation approximately seventy-three times, she was still sure this was the best decision of her life. “I’ve only been here for a week and I’m already so at  _ peace,  _ Maria. It’s beautiful. If you could see it— I don’t know. It’s hard to explain. But you might feel the same way.”

There were some muffled shuffling noises before her sister spoke again. “Have you at least found a job?”

Anya winced. “Working on it.”

“You can’t live off family funds forever, you know. Especially if you insist on being independent.”

“I know,” Anya responded a little defensively. “I’m not vacationing. I’ve got an apartment and everything. The job’s next.”

On that note, the payphone beeped, reminding Anya to either hang up or add more quarters in the next sixty seconds. She decided to say her goodbyes instead. Hand lingering on the receiver after setting it back into place, she looked around the small street, feeling lost but not panicked about it. She knew where she was— she’d stopped at this bistro across the street almost daily since her arrival, and the flower shop next door, and around the corner was her apartment— but she didn’t quite know what she wanted to do next. Maybe her sister had a point. 

She crossed the cobblestone road and pushed open the restaurant door. A bell chimed, but that was the loudest noise in the quiet space, since the lunch rush was long over, the radio playing soft jazz, the wooden floors creaking under her feet. She parked herself at the bar and dug through her purse for her journal. This wasn’t necessarily the type of place to work the way she did— it was usually too busy to feel like a cafe or library— yet she still found the atmosphere relaxing and perfect when she needed to think. And to eat. 

A foreign pen tapped her notebook, making her glance up. “Anything to drink?” the bartender asked in a rough French accent, setting a half a baguette wrapped in cloth next to her. It was the same guy who worked almost every time she was here.

“Just a water,” she answered in Russian, testing her theory. “And maybe some cheese.”

His eyebrows quirked up and maybe there was a hint of a smile. She surprised him. And she was correct in thinking he was Russian, too.

When he returned and set her water down, she stopped him from leaving. “If one were to theoretically look for a job around here, where would I— I mean, where would _ one _ start?”

She could tell he noticed her obvious discomfort in asking for something that no one would ever ask a bartender/waiter/cook/whatever he was, but he only gestured for her notebook, suppressing a smile. He had nice hands, Anya noticed as he scribbled something in large, angular handwriting, a sharp contrast to her lists in small script. “There’s a bookshop on the Seine that’s hiring right now, if you don’t mind retail work.”

He was perceptive, she’d give him credit for that. “I don’t mind.”

His next smile was an impressed one, a dimple cutting through his left cheek. “Tell them Dmitry sent you, if they need any convincing.” 

“Thank you.” For the help, and the name. Very Russian indeed. “Where are you from? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Petersburg,” he looked up from the glass he was cleaning.

“Me too!”

“No way!” He grinned. “Welcome to Paris, neighbor.”

Before she could respond someone from behind the kitchen door called for his help. He gave an apologetic shrug before vanishing to his responsibilities, leaving her to her daily scribblings in her journal. She decided to document as much as she could since she arrived, and she found that even when she had nothing to say, just writing down notes and lists and thoughts helped her think. She even doodled occasionally. They weren’t very good, but still. After living a life back in Russia without a single ounce of control, she loved the routine of setting small goals and finding mundane things to celebrate to herself. She crossed a line through  _ call home _ on her to-do list. Instead of looking at what else she’d planned to do she studied the address now written over a large portion of the page, the lines of the pen having left small indents on the surface of the paper.

She didn’t exchange any more words with Dmitry after that initial pocket of a conversation, which was okay because she’d be back tomorrow anyway and she kept herself busy. Anya stayed in her spot at the bar until the dinner crowd started rushing in and she didn’t want to loiter when they needed the space. 

A warm breeze greeted her outside. The moon was high and bright tonight, and the warm light from the bistro didn’t hold a candle in comparison. Anya took her time walking through the sidewalk tables and around the corner where her apartment was, still staring up at the sky while she entered the courtyard. The artist who lived in the apartment under hers was just packing up his easel for the night, a couple of children chased each other around at dangerous speeds, a dog barked nearby, laundry billowed from its line, and Anya inhaled every sense of it all. She climbed up the narrow staircase, unlocked her door and crossed the threshold to open the window and let the evening air freshen up her space and the ambience of the city keep her company. 

Maybe in a few weeks— or tomorrow, even— she’d start to feel a little lonely and homesick. But now, more than anything, she was finally learning to enjoy her own company, how to just exist and  _ be _ without any external voices. And that had to count for something. 

* * *

Anya glanced down again at the address in her notebook. Yep, this was the place. Dmitry’s note had taken her downtown on the Seine, with Notre Dame as the backdrop, where a humble bookshop sagged between two looming buildings,  _ Vlad’s _ stamped across the window. Excitement and nerves stirred in her gut.

She pushed open the door and a bell announced her arrival. The radio played quietly in the background— news, not music, she noted— but everything else was completely still, the smell of parchment and coffee permeating the air. Every inch of the cramped space was lined with books of all genres and sizes. A man appeared behind the register— dirty glasses, wiry beard, slightly disarrayed, but smiling warmly. “Welcome! Anything I can help you with?”

“Umm,” she stuffed her notebook back into her purse. “Do you know a Dmitry? He sent me here, he said you were hiring?”

The man chuckled. “Did he, now?” He gestured towards a small table and two chairs, motioning her to follow and take a seat. “I swear, that boy manages to find every Russian in town.”

“How did you know I was Russian?”

“Lucky guess.”

She didn’t quite know what to think of him, but he seemed friendly enough. “So you two are friends, then?”

“Oh, we go way back! He’s kind of a loner, that one. Too serious. I keep him young.” he grinned and jumped from his seat. “Excuse my manners! Would you like some tea?”

She smiled. “That would be nice.”

Behind the desk was a humble tea kettle and a stack of porcelain cups. “Business has been rather slow lately, but I like to offer some sort of complimentary beverage for our guests. Call me old-fashioned but I think it’s a lovely touch, if I don’t say so myself.”

“I agree,” she said, accepting the cup he set on the table for her. “Thank you.”

He sat back down again with his own teacup. “So, you want to work in my little bookstore, then?”

“I’d love to. I just moved into town and I’m willing to do whatever you need, if you need the help.”

He grinned and took a sip. “Like I said, business has been slow, but you sound like a hard worker.”

“I am.”

“Your responsibilities would mostly be organizing the shelves, manning the register when I’m out, keeping the place tidy, et cetera. Think you can handle that?”

She nodded. 

“Good. Now, are you and Dmitry…” he let his sentence trail off with a raised eyebrow.

She choked on her tea. “Oh, god, no! We’ve only just— I’ve only been in town for two weeks.”

He nodded. “Sorry, I had to ask. He tends to get his heart broken easily and I wouldn’t want to make things awkward.” She furrowed her brow, but before she could ask what that meant he waved his hand. “No matter. In that case, you’re hired!”

She gasped. “Really? Just like that?”

“Yep! When can you start?”

Elation fluttered in her stomach. This whole adventure had been one good gut feeling after another, so this must’ve been the next step. “How’s tomorrow?”

* * *

Time passed, as it normally does, and after settling into a routine she was surprised to find a package had arrived. The package being all four of her siblings.

She knew what they were here for. Instead of letting that annoy her, though, she just ignored the thought and focused on the delight instead. “What a surprise! Where are you staying? Have you eaten? I can’t wait to show you what I’ve been up to.” Her excited babbling lasted the whole length of the courtyard and through the narrow, winding staircase to her apartment. With all five of them there, the room felt a lot smaller. And yet… she was genuinely excited to see them. 

“You— where’s the furniture?” Tatiana asked. “And what’s that smell?” 

Anya only laughed and opened the window. “What do you mean? I have a chair. And a bed.”

“But that’s— where do you eat?”

“Are those… plants?” Olga asked from the windowsill. 

“That’s my herb garden! The basil smells lovely. I still can’t cook anything, though, so I don’t really know what to do with them.”

“But you’ve never managed to keep a  _ goldfish _ alive, how do you expect to—” In that moment four small paws padded into the kitchen. “You bought a  _ dog?” _

Anya scooped up the small animal instantly. “Yes, I found him in a shelter, poor guy. His name’s Pooka!”

“Oh my god.” 

“Do you have dinner plans?” Anya plowed through, determinedly smiling, not letting anything or anyone taint the joy she’d found in this new home. “There’s this charming bistro around the block I know you’ll love, it kind of reminds me of that one restaurant we used to—”

“No, Nastya, we came here to talk.”

“Right. So let’s talk over dinner!” She was already leading them to the door. Alexei rose from the single chair in the middle of the room to follow her, passively agreeing. Brothers were underrated. 

Eventually everyone dragged themselves downstairs, making comments about the rude landlady and the smell and the dirty streets, but Anya pressed on, only chatting about how excited she was to show them around her favorite museums tomorrow. At the bistro they found a round table and settled into creaky chairs. 

“Nastya, we’ve come to take you home.”

Well, that didn’t take long. They could’ve at least waited until the appetizers were on the table. “That’s not happening.”

“But why!”

Anya sighed. “I don’t know how many other ways I can say that this is the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“But it’s irresponsible! You quit your steady job, left almost unannounced, and still refuse to give anyone a concrete explanation!”

“I don’t know, Olya! It’s not like I’m expected to inherit a lot of the family responsibilities anyway, and for once I’d like to learn how to— how to not rely on our connections.”

“Hmm. I still think there has to be something you’re not telling us.” 

The wine arrived. Anya gave Dmitry a quiet  _ merci _ when he poured her a glass and then she told him he could leave the bottle on the table. After he was back behind the bar she noticed four sets of amused eyes staring at her, eyebrows high and smiles smug, and she squirmed. “What?”

But somehow Anya knew exactly what was about to come out of Maria’s mouth. “Wait!  _ Now _ I get it, you met a hot Frenchman!”

Anya blushed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’s Russian, actually, so he can understand you.”

Her despair darkened when she heard him laugh, his shoulders shaking while he had his back turned to them behind the bar. “Even better!” Maria said. “Hey, you should date my sister!”

She shushed her sister and buried her face in her hands. His laughter grew uncomfortable and Anya had never wanted to crawl under the table more than this moment. 

“Seriously, though, Nastya, why didn’t you just say so?”

“You know that’s not why I won’t come home!” Anya was trying not to get exasperated but her patience was waning. “I didn’t come here to date around. I’m here to… figure out who I am and what I want to do with my life, for the first time.”

“But you have certain commitments,” Tatiana nearly scolded. 

“Commitments I realized were unimportant.”

An exasperated sigh. “Alexei, talk some sense into her, she listens to you.”

Her brother squirmed. He’d hardly spoken a word the whole afternoon, so this would be good. “While I think there’s probably…  _ better _ ways to do this, I have to say I can see Nastya’s point.”

Anya grinned as outrage broke over the table. “You get to pick dessert,” she whispered and he sat a little straighter. 

Dinner arrived and her sisters’ arguments slowly dwindled with the food on their plates. Outside, Maria lingered behind the rest, making Anya wait before following them down the street. “You’re not coming back with us, are you.”

Anya shook her head. 

Maria sighed. “You’ve always been the independent one.”

“I hope nobody thinks I’m upset or anything, I’m not trying to offend anyone. Papa seemed okay with it when I told him I was leaving.”

“I don’t think he realized how serious you were.”

Anya tried not to let guilt creep into her chest. “You’re all welcome to visit, and I’ll come back to visit too, of course. I’m not  _ really _ leaving, not like that.” Maria waited for her to continue. “It’s just… if my gut is telling me it’s time to go, don’t you think I should try? Who would I be if I don’t?” 

Her sister kept studying her. “You’re really set on this?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” She sighed again. “You think you can do it?”

Anya swallowed. “I don’t know,” she answered honestly. “Do you?”

“Of course,” Maria said, which surprised her. “It makes sense I guess.”

“What does?”

“That it was you. Out of all of us, you’re the one to actually… look elsewhere.”

Anya didn’t know what to say to that. She didn’t have to respond, though, because Maria wrapped her in a hug. “I hope whatever it is you’re looking for is worth it.”

She smiled. “And if it’s not, I know who to come home to.”

“Yeah you do!” Maria pulled away with a laugh. Even if she didn’t quite understand what Anya was doing, the peace smoothing over the night between them was more relieving than anything, and she knew it would ripple to the rest of her family. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short update for today. I think chapters will vary in length but hopefully they deliver! And we're still sort of in the ~exposition~ part of the story, I promise a plot is coming :)
> 
> me tossing in basic French phrases: I'll just pepper in the fact that I took French for 4 years

Anya sighed into her mug of coffee. Rain tapped against the windows of the bistro, soothing in the midst of her strange melancholy. Not melancholy, really— she wasn’t sad, nothing had yet dampened her spirits here, not even her siblings’ visit, but she… well, she wasn’t sure what she felt. Uncertainty? Aimlessness? Whatever it was, she hoped it wouldn’t last. Why let a little bad afternoon ruin her time in Paris?

Her face must’ve shown the unidentified emotion because when Dmitry came back to refill her cup he asked, “Everything okay?”

She sighed again. Her first reaction was to just shrug it all off and dismiss his concern, but she wasn’t that great at lying. “Following your gut is a… good thing,” she looked up at him, “right?”

He usually wore some kind of amused expression but now he frowned, studying her. “What do you mean?”

She had no idea. “I thought… I mean, I still think I’m doing the right thing.”

“Is this about the other night?”

He didn’t need to specify. This feeling lingered after her sisters and brother came to town. “Maybe. How did you know?”

“Look, I—” He glanced around, then down at his watch, and pulled a chair out to sit next to her at the table. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, it’s just uncommon to get so many Russian speakers here at once, so it’s easier to listen to, I guess.”

“It’s okay,” she smiled. “My sisters can be… loud.”

He laughed. “But seriously, though. Is this your first time away from home?”

“No, which is the weirdest part.” She took a sip of her coffee. “I went to university here, and everyone was fine with it.”

“Hmm.” He tapped the table with a few fingers, once again drawing her attention to those hands. “Are you... running away from something?”

“No! I mean. I don’t know.”

“There’s no shame if you are. I ran away once.”

Her eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yeah. I guess— I don’t know, I didn’t really have a choice, though, so that might be different.” As intrigued as she was by this cryptic answer, she didn’t want to push him further, or at least, she hadn’t reached that conclusion before he waved a hand dismissively, effectively showing he didn’t want to dig deeper. “Either way, it doesn’t seem like you’re running away. At least from what it looks like.”

She stared. How much had he noticed? “I don’t think I’m being… irresponsible. But sometimes I still feel guilty for being here.”

He nodded. “There’s nothing wrong with trying to start fresh.”

“I know.” She suddenly felt embarrassed for not being able to move on from this. “It’s just… hard, you know? I thought being in a place where no one knew my name would help, but I still feel like I’m carrying all that with me.”

He shrugged. “That’s an easy fix.”

“How?”

“Just change it.”

“What?” 

“Not like, officially or anything, but there’s no reason you can’t be called something else.” 

She studied the table for a moment. How had the thought never occurred to her before? 

“You can start with me— I don’t even know your name to begin with. What should I call you?”

Wow, he definitely wasn’t smooth. But his endearing efforts made her crack a smile and shake her head. “Dmitry…”

_"Non,_ _je suis_ Dmitry. _Et vous?”_

His choppy accent pulled a laugh out of her. Fine. “I’m… Anya,” she decided. 

He grinned.  _ "Enchanté, _ Anya,” he said, holding out his hand for her to shake. She rolled her eyes but played along, his grip warm and surprisingly soft. “Feel better?”

She pondered it. The lightness had returned to her shoulders. “Yeah, actually, I do.”

A voice called from the kitchen and Dmitry sighed and stood, his hands fidgeting with the rag hanging from the front pocket of his apron. “I’m— I have to get back to work, but take all the time you need.”

“Thank you,” she answered quietly, touched by the unexpected sweetness and the willingness to spend his break with her. 

She left her tip on the table and decided a trip to the library would be better suited for a rainy day such as this. What she didn’t leave behind, however, was the odd satisfaction of hearing her new name on Dmitry’s lips.

* * *

_ “Avez-vous des roses?” _ Anya asked the florist. She wasn’t normally a morning person but she was glad to be awake for this. Paris was different when it was waking up, the night still permeating its blue through the sunrise, making everything feel hazy and beautiful, and she inhaled every second of it. New beginnings were always good. 

The vendor handed her the bouquet she purchased and she thanked him. Next she bought a baguette, then some cheese, and fresh fruit for her breakfast, and another plant, and soon it was too much to carry back home.

She was struggling with her bags when she quite literally ran into a body.  _ “Je suis—” _ her breath hitched when he turned and it was the bartender at her favorite bistro. This city wasn’t as large as she thought, apparently. “Dmitry,” she finished.

“No,  _ I’m _ Dmitry,” he grinned.

She rolled her eyes but ducked her face in embarrassment. “I meant  _ désolé. _ I’m— sorry.”

He looked at her like she was a puzzle he was having a  _ blast _ trying to solve. Confused, but amused. “Do you need help?”

Her pride said no. But… “Aren’t you busy?”

He shrugged. “I’ve got time to spare, I’m just finishing up here. Did you walk?”

“Yeah. I only live about a block away.”

His smile widened. “Maybe bring a basket next time?”

She couldn’t think of a quippy retort but she laughed anyway. Oh well. He offered to carry a few of her bags and lifted them with no difficulty. Not that she noticed. 

“What are you doing at the market so early?” she asked as they wove between the morning crowd. 

“Buying ingredients for work,” he shrugged. When she peaked into his basket it made sense— large quantities of tomatoes, spices, various meats from the butcher, and more. 

“They let you do that?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you like shopping for them?”

“Yeah,” he smiled. “It’s a good start to the day.”

She nodded. As sleepy as she was, this was a lovely morning indeed. 

“What about you?”

He must’ve been reading her thoughts. She shrugged again. “I wanted a bouquet of flowers, someone told me they sell fast so I needed to get in line early. And then I got distracted because the bread smelled good, and— here I am.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you ask your boyfriend to buy you some flowers?”

“Don’t need one,” she adjusted the strap of one of her bags on her shoulder. “I get to pick which flowers I like.”

He had the decency to look surprised, but he nodded. “Good point.”

They reached the courtyard of her apartment and he assured her he could carry her stuff the rest of the way. As he followed her up the narrow spiral stairway to her apartment, she suddenly felt a little self-conscious of what he would see when she opened her door, but she wasn’t sure why, so she didn’t dwell on it for long. 

“You can just leave all of that there,” she said after walking in. 

He set her groceries down, but looked around slowly. “There’s… no furniture.”

Observant. “I’ve only been in town for a few weeks.”

“I see.”

Pooka padded through the kitchen to say hello. Dmitry knelt down to receive the dog’s greetings, a natural when it came to animal affections, apparently. “If you want, I know someone who resells furniture that you might like?” He glanced up. 

“That would be great!”

“It’s— well, she’s unconventional, I guess. But I can send you her way.”

“Believe me, right now I’m sick of conventional.”

He laughed. “Perfect.”

“You certainly know your way around town,” she said, resting her hands on her hips. 

“I’m— I guess,” he ducked his head to hide his smile. And then, meeting her eyes again, “Will I see you at the bistro today?”

Anya blinked. Sure, she was there almost every day, but something about him noticing made her cheeks flush. “Perhaps.”

He grinned again and rose to his feet. “Better get going.”

“Thank you,” she blurted before he could leave. “For helping.”

He only shrugged. “No trouble.”

He closed the door on his way out. For some reason she felt like this wasn’t the last time they’d interact like this, and for some reason she didn’t mind the thought. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ all my girls out here daydreaming about running away to Paris and having a man that looks like Derek Klena fall head over heals in love with u, this one's for U QUEENS 😤


	3. Chapter 3

The furniture shop on the outskirts of the city was definitely not what Anya expected. 

Well, Dmitry did say it was unconventional, that was true. But it was less a shop and more of a… studio? Garage? Antique chairs and china cabinets and tables were piled high and splattered with paint, every piece and color imaginable, and every inch of the wall was covered with canvases with price tags hanging. 

Finally a woman with a cigarette and a head of curls greeted her. “You must be Marfa?” Anya asked, holding out her hand. 

The owner had a firm handshake. “I am.”

“Good! I hear you have the best dining table sets in town.”

“Bold statement. Who said that?”

“He’s a— I guess he’s a friend of yours. Dmitry?”

Marfa laughed. “You’ll have to be more specific. There’s like five million Russian men named Dmitry.”

True. She frowned when she realized she never learned his last name. “He works at Gustave’s Bistro in Montmartre?” 

Marfa grinned. “Oh, Mitya! Of course.” She studied her with an unreadable expression, and it took all of Anya’s years in etiquette training not to fidget under her gaze. “I’ve got just the thing. Follow me.”

Winding through a maze of abstracted sofas and tables, Anya asked, “do you refurbish all of these?”

“Mostly. Dunya goes to all the estate sales and buys the old stuff, Paulina handles the repairs, and I paint.”

“What about the paintings on the wall?”

“That’s me, too. You can buy one if you’d like.”

They reached the dining set Marfa had mentally picked out. She chose well— dark wood with the illusion of cream-colored paint dripping down the sides. “I love it.”

Marfa grinned. “I knew you would.”

The sofa Anya found was equally lovely and soon she was filling out paperwork to have her new purchases delivered to her apartment. Marfa was by far unique, but she seemed to be incredibly perceptive— good for business and friendships. 

As if on cue, she mentioned Dmitry again. “You don’t seem like the kind of girl Mitya normally hangs around.”

Anya really,  _ really _ shouldn’t ask, since she didn’t want to give her the wrong idea. But… “What kind of girls does he usually see?”

“Someone he won’t fall in love with.”

Anya coughed. Well, there was a lot to unpack in a statement so casually spoken. “Oh no, we’re not— I’m— I just moved to the city, and we’ve only chatted a couple of times— nothing more. We’re barely even friends.” She frowned, unsatisfied by her own answer. 

“Hmm,” Marfa grinned. “Interesting.”

Anya rolled her eyes. Why did everyone around her insist on this weird notion that she was interested in dating right now? Weren’t they all adults? Anyway. She thanked Marfa again and said goodbye, parting with the promise to come back to browse the artwork, walking to the metro glowing with the feeling of making a new friend. 

* * *

“What do you mean the shop is closing?”

Vlad sighed and set his box of books down. “Precisely that, my dear.” The sadness in his smile was heartbreaking.

“There has to be a way to save it!” Anya followed him behind the register.

“No, I’ve made my peace with it. I’m ready to retire and rely on Lily’s income, and I’m too tired to try to save it or come up with something more hip or unique. I’ll be all right.” He placed his hands on Anya’s shoulders, laughing at her baffled expression. “I’m serious!  _ C’est la vie. _ Now, I know you still need a job, and you’ve done lovely work here, so I can recommend you to some other shops.”

That still didn’t satisfy her. How could he give up something as wonderful as this livelihood? But she only nodded and thanked him anyway. He’d clearly made up his mind, no need to change the inevitable. 

“All that’s left to do is to sell the rest of my collection.” He patted the top of the box of books he’d been storing away when she arrived. “Not many bookshops are opening here, though. Too competitive.” 

“Is there anything I can do to help?”

“Well, whatever doesn’t sell today or tomorrow has to be stored away. It’d be a shame to waste all of these beautiful books.”

Anya did as told, making sure the books and novels stayed organized by shelf as she packed them away. The occasional customer came in and she’d help them as well, but for the most part all she did was manage the shelves. 

Such a shame, she thought. 

The next day Anya decided to tackle a new project. In the courtyard of where she had been staying was a little community garden. Having no knowledge about plants, she thought she’d give it a try. 

The  _ idea _ was good, but the execution was a little rocky. Her neighbor actually knew how to garden and Anya was trying her best to follow instructions, but it just wasn’t clicking, and tensions were high and the sun was extra warm today. Her little break for lunch couldn’t come soon enough and she promised to bring back her neighbor something delicious as a peace offering.

Of course Dmitry was working— the poor guy always was— and looked a little disappointed she was ordering to go. “Lunch for two?”

“Yeah. My neighbor is annoyed because I suck at gardening.” 

He glanced up at her from scribbling her order onto a notepad. “At least you’ve got the outfit right.” She laughed, her dirty overalls and sunhat were probably overkill. “Is it the little old lady who sits on the sidewalk in the mornings?”

“Yes. Jacqueline.”

“I’ll help deliver lunch then. I think she fancies me, so that may take some attention away from how awful you are at gardening.”

She snorted. “When have you ever interacted with her?”

“On my way out the other morning. And, well, older women tend to think I’m charming.” 

“I wonder why.”

He took off his apron and called into the kitchen that he was taking his break. How many times now had he spent his break with her? He pushed the sleeves of his shirt up, revealing his forearms (an unimportant observation) and he carried three lunches in a sack. He wasn’t lying— Jacqueline indeed lit up when he arrived in the courtyard, all smiles now instead of sour insults, happily accepting her lunch and inviting Dmitry to sit next to her in a lawn chair. He shrugged and grinned at Anya with an  _ I told you so _ wiggle of his eyebrows. 

“Did you prepare our meal?” Anya asked.

His smile fell and he shook his head. “Nah, I don’t get to cook very often.”

Her brow furrowed. “But you work like… all the time. Can’t you ask for a promotion?”

He wiped the crumbs off his hands. “If they haven’t offered after all this time, there’s no point in asking now.”

“Would you want to cook?”

He nodded and crawled out of his seat to sit on the ground with her, collecting trash and picking up a trowel to help. “Love to. Beats bartending and waiting tables, honestly. If I could I’d like to have my own kitchen.”

“That sounds nice.”

Jacqueline gave them some extra instructions from her chair in French. 

“Am I doing this right?” Anya asked in Russian.

“Well,” he patted the mound of soil flat, “you should really hold the stem like this—”

“Really?”

“I don’t know. I’m not a gardener.”

She laughed. “We’re off to a great start, then.”

He turned to ask Jacqueline for some clarity, and she gave him more instructions— much more sweetly, Anya noticed. Soon they were giving this tomato plant a proper home. “I’m sorry to hear about Vlad’s bookstore closing.”

“Yeah. It’s a shame, isn’t it?”

“It really is. But I feel bad for sending you to a job you won’t have for much longer.”

She shrugged. “No, it was wonderful while it lasted. I found a part-time job as a tour guide in the Rodin museum so I’ll be fine for now.”

“Who knows? Maybe one day you’ll open your own bookshop on the Seine.”

“And maybe you’ll have your own restaurant by then.”

He grinned. “That would be lovely, wouldn’t it?” His watch beeped and he let out a curse. “Um, I have to go, but thanks for keeping me company.” He waved goodbye with a dirty hand and Anya couldn’t help but watch every step he took until he was outside the courtyard. Who would’ve guessed he was as much of a dreamer as she was?

She continued stabilizing her new plant, an idea swirling in her head. Maybe a big dream was what she needed. 

* * *

Anya stopped at a payphone on her way to work at the museum the next morning. Her fingers shook as she dialed and she took a deep breath into the receiver, waiting. What if he didn’t pick up? What if he was actually upset, like Maria implied? 

All of her fears dissipated at the sound of his deep, loving voice. “Papa,” she sagged with relief. “It’s me.”

“Anastasia? Darling, it’s good to hear from you!”

She smiled. “I’m— I’m sorry for not calling sooner. There’s a phone in my apartment building, but it’s behind the front desk, and I just haven’t gotten the chance to call from there yet.”

“No apologies needed, you’ve been busy making a new life for yourself, and for that I’m very proud. How are you?”

“I’m… good. Really good. Are you doing okay? And Mamma?”

“Yes, darling. That’s not for you to worry about.” 

She frowned. “What does that m—”

“What are you up to? It’s rather early your time.”

“I’m… well, I’m actually on my way to work right now. They offered me a tour guide position at the Rodin museum.”

He laughed. She wished she could capture the sound in a jar, store it on a shelf for sad and lonely days. “I’m sure you love that.”

“I do.” She fiddled with the spiral chord of the phone. “But that’s not why I called. Can I ask a question? About… money.”

“Of course.”

“I’m not asking for help.”

“Of course,” he repeated. She could hear his smile. He knew her pride too well.

“But I was wondering… do I still have anything left in my college fund? I don’t— I don’t want to rely on it, of course, and I’m working hard and paying for rent with my own paycheck. But I found a… an investment opportunity.” 

“Oh? May I ask what this investment would be?”

Her grip on the receiver tightened. “Me. I have an idea.”

“Well, that’s good to hear.” There was a pause. “I can look into what you’ve got left. I know you’ve saved a lot yourself over the years, why are you asking me?”

“I just… needed some reassurance.”

“What is your idea, if you feel like sharing?”

“It’s— it’s still a really small idea, but…” She sighed, leaning against the side of the payphone. “It has something to do with books. I’ll elaborate more when I have more momentum.”

“Perfect,” he laughed again. “Well, I have no doubt whatever you put your mind to will come into fruition. You’ve got ambition, use it.”

She smiled. “Thanks, Papa.”

She was about to say her goodbyes when he stopped her. “Are you… are you doing well?”

“Yeah,” her brow furrowed. “Yeah I’m— I love it here.”

“Good, good. I just… I’m not worried about you, you’ve always been independent. But I don’t like you being all alone out there.”

She swallowed. “I’m really okay, Papa. And I’m making friends,” she added with a glance at the bistro across the street. “Being alone is kind of the point, anyway.”

“True. But isolating yourself from your former acquaintance may not be as peaceful as you think. Whatever fears or insecurities you felt here at home— well, they can sometimes follow you if you don’t confront them.” He paused, probably waiting for her to respond, but she was frozen. “It’s just something to think about. I’m not discouraging you, this seems like an important journey you need to take, and I’ll support you every step of the way. But remember we’re here for you.”

A moment passed and she sniffed. “Thank you, Papa.” She swallowed again, shaking her head. “I’ll be okay. I even bought a dog.”

He barked a laugh. “So Tatiana tells me with a tone of disgust.”

She giggled. “They told you about their visit, huh?”

“Oh, I haven’t heard the end of it.” They shared a laugh before sobering again. “You know you’re welcome to come home any time. Even for a weekend.”

“I know. And you’re welcome to come visit here, too, when you’d like. Maybe give me a call beforehand, though.”

“Of course.” 

The payphone beeped. Time to go. “I love you, Papa.”

“I love you, too. I’ll send you a number to call about your funds.”

A goodbye later she hung up the phone, clenching her jaw. The warmth from hearing her father’s voice again settled into a quiet ache— not quite homesickness yet, but this was close— while the possible meaning of his words tossed around in her head. 

She straightened her back and her resolve. No matter. It was time for work, and she had business to attend to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm warning y'all that Marfa exists in this only so Anya will have someone to talk about Dmitry with, so literally none of their interactions will pass the Bechdel test aldjskf pls forgive me
> 
> I hope you enjoyed!! <3


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